


The Lies We Chose To Tell

by Hallianna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Guilt, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric swore he wasn't interested in humans. Hawke was sure she had no desire for smart mouthed dwarves.  They were liars, the both of them.</p><p>After Hawke returns from the Deep Roads and has to inform her mother that Bethany is dead, she finds herself knocking on Varric's door, looking for solace and comfort in the company of her best friend.  </p><p>Varric knows that he doesn't want to be alone so quickly, not when the memories of the Deep Roads are so fresh in his mind.  Hawke's knock at his door couldn't come at a better time.  </p><p>What they both need is found in each other's arms, past memories and promises finally fulfilled as the lies they chose to tell themselves crumble in the face of an unyielding truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit rating for later chapters. It was meant to be a one-shot but was getting far too long - my dreams of writing a PWP went out the window the minute I started writing flashbacks.

“Bethany is dead, Mother.”

Hawke watched as her mother fell to the ground, grief backhanding her face.  She could only stand there, helpless, as the family she had left crumbled around her.  Even Gamlen, spineless little golem that he was, looked distraught.  He pulled Mother to him and she sobbed in his shoulder, shaking as she cried.

Hawke looked around the small hovel, torn between wanting to go to her mother to console her and wanting to flee.  The decision was made for her when her mother looked up at her and whispered, “How could you let her die, Marian?  How could you kill your sister?”

And so she fled, running into the humid Kirkwall night, her Mabari at her side and the ghosts of her dead siblings at her heels.  Guilt and shame weighed down her pauldrons and had her seeing Carver and Bethany’s dead-eyed faces around every dark corner.  She jumped when a group of early revelers came barreling at her, not seeing her in their drunken reverie, and she growled and shoved them aside.  One fool tried to slash at her with a knife and she grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into the wall.  She felt her face twist into a mask of rage and pain as she spat, “Be smart, friend.  I’m not fresh off the boat.”  And she stepped back to let him go, her hand tensed on the pommel of her sword.

Shaken, the man stumbled off with his friends, giving her one terrified look over his shoulder before heading down an alley. She must have looked a sight, covered in mud and darkspawn blood, wandering Lowtown like a crazy woman.  The encounter stopped her quickflight pace and she turned to see she was near The Hanged Man.  She wasn't running anywhere in particular, she just knew she had to get out of that house and away, _away from their disappointment and grief and the way they were looking at her like she’d slit Bethany’s throat herself._

She might as well have.  It’d been more than stupid, taking her sister down into the Deep Roads.  But she’d feared the templars finding her apostate sister more than the darkspawn when the decision had been made.  What’s done is done, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she thought, feeling a little morbid.  Hawke ran a hand over her face and looked up at the star-studded sky.

_Forgive me, Bethany._

The Hanged Man stood in front of her, with its tepid swill and boisterous crowds, but it was likely she’d find at least a few of her friends here. She’d taken Varric, Fenris, and Anders with her into the Deep Roads and after being trapped in that Maker-forsaken place for over two weeks with little food and no rest, they’d all parted ways upon reaching the surface.  Her first stop had been home, and she was betting Varric had come back to the pub to his suite. She'd entrusted him with her part of the treasure, knowing he would safeguard it and invest it properly. She kept only enough on her to buy back the Amell estate and to keep her and Mother in a rooming house until the estate was repaired, plus some spending money.  She'd left the money for the estate on her uncle's table with a note for her Mother, something she'd written while on the last leg of their journey to the surface.  It had been her attempt to explain what had happened to Bethany, pathetic as it was.  So she'd left home with the clothes on her back, a spare pair she'd grabbed before leaving, and enough coin to put her up somewhere for the time being.  The thought of not going home, of not seeing her mother for a while, if ever again, made Hawke ill.

She found herself standing on the precipice of a decision - should she plant herself in the corner of the pub and drink until she passed out, hoping that no one pestered her?  If she paid Norah enough, the barmaid would likely keep most troublemakers away but she didn’t expect the woman to take up arms to defend her should a situation arise.

Or, should she go straight upstairs and seek out Varric?  That would be a purely selfish act, and Hawke knew it.  She was tired and lonely and hurting, and seeking out solace in her dear friend would surely ease her pain, could dampen the fiery grip grief and despair had on her but it would be wholly unfair to Varric.  He had been right there with her in the dark, he’d fought the demons and darkspawn.  He’d watched Bethany struggle to breathe and heard her beg Hawke to end her life before the taint took her completely.  Varric had been the one to hold Bethany’s hand as Hawke slid the dagger in between her sister’s ribs, ensuring a quick, nearly painless death.  She hadn’t asked him to do it but was beyond grateful that he had.  

Varric had been the one to help her build a pyre for her dead sister, had lifted Bethany’s feet while she and Fenris had carried the other half of her and gently laid her atop the pile of discarded wood and stone.  He’d stood close to her as they’d watched as Anders set it aflame.  It was the only proper way to send her sister to the Maker, the Fereldan way.

And Varric had been the one to sit with her that night and hold her hand and watch her struggle with her grief.  He had offered company and words of comfort and anything else she needed, an open-ended promise to fill the hole in her heart.  Hawke knew when he meant anything, she could have asked him for a story, a joke, the warmth of his arms, or the skill of his mouth on hers, his lips and tongue and hands on her body demanding a response, a way to make her focus her grief and pour it into him.  He had meant _anything_ , it was a true offer for a friend in pain and need.  He'd followed up his words with a squeeze of his hand and a brush of fingers through her hair. Even in her haze, that touch had sparked something in her.  Memories of one particular evening where both their boundaries had been tested came rushing back. They had been of little comfort at that moment, but she could have done nothing to keep them at bay.

_You see, Varric swore he wasn't interested in humans. Hawke was sure she had no desire for smart mouthed dwarves. Two months before they'd gathered the last sovereigns to hand over to Bartrand, both of them got a little too drunk, and Hawke wound up in Varric's lap, her breath ghosting over his ear while she asked him if he thought she was pretty._

_It'd been a moment of weakness, one she wasn't completely proud of, brought on by cheap red wine and one too many lonely nights. Varric made her laugh and liked to be in her company.  It was a fair trade off, especially when they were good at watching each others' backs and had recently started referring to the other as "friend".  He didn't expect anything from her like Anders, and didn't scowl at her for keeping company with mages like Fenris.  He was sweet and good looking and now that she was in his lap and all she could feel was his warmth and the solidness of him beneath her....well, all the naughty suggestions Isabela had ever made about the size of dwarven equipment were going to be put to the test._

_Varric had put his hands on either side of her waist, fingers skimming her ribs, and looked up at her with a wicked smile. He blatantly ignored the inner voice pulling at him, telling him to stop, wait, think.  His response to her question was a simple, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, Hawke."_

_She'd smiled in returned and bent down to kiss him and that's when Varric's inner voice chose to start screaming. He knew they were drunk, knew she had crawled on him because of the wine, and didn't want either of them to do something they'd regret later, or worse, do something that would continue past one evening and cause a frisson in their little group. Sex had a way of causing major issues when people needed to trust they had each other's backs._

_"Hawke," he'd said gently, his hands moving to her face to stop her, his aim a little off because of the damn wine, "we're drunk."_

_She'd froze for just a moment, confusion clouding her eyes, and then giggled. The Hawke he knew, the level-headed, hard-hitting, sober Hawke he knew and loved wasn't capable of such a sound.  “ 'Pose we are, Varric. Might make things a bit sloppy, but it doesn't make me any less fantastic in bed."  She'd leaned down, nipped at his neck, and growled, "I want you, Varric."_

_And he'd thought, fuck it, as he reached for her, just as his door banged open and Aveline and Anders came crashing into the room, carrying a half conscious Isabela between them. Hawke had jumped from his lap, smacking her hip into his table, and hurried over to them to get the story, and then a few minutes later, chide the pirate for trying to take on a band of mercs by herself._

_Varric had just watched the entire debacle while shaking his head, torn between lust and concern. Anders did his magical healing thing and Aveline scolded Isabela fiercely.  Aveline gave Hawke a friendly pat on the shoulder and a questioning look before leaving, to which Hawke responded with a lopsided smile.  However, she avoided Anders' scorching glare, choosing instead to check on a now unconscious Isabela one more time before coming back to Varric, a sheepish grin on her face._

_"They've got terrible timing," she said, gingerly sitting down beside him and kicking a leg into his lap._

_He let his head come to rest on the back of the chair with a thunk and laughed hollowly. He gently massaged her calf for a minute before responding. "Maybe they don't, Hawke." At her questioning look, he sighed and said, "We were drunk...hell, still are drunk. Great stories usually involve alcohol in the plot somewhere along the line, but great decisions? Not so much." His fingers stopped their soothing ministrations and he pulled his head up to look at her. "Besides, you humans are too tall for me. Do you know how exhausting that would get?"_

_Hawke cocked an eyebrow at him, humor dancing in her eyes.  “Too much woman for you, eh dwarf?”_

_That got Varric genuinely laughing.  “Something like that.”  His face grew serious after a few more chuckles and she shifted, unease growing in her stomach.  “Hawke, I….”_

_She waved a hand at him.  “It’s okay, Varric.  I know.”  She pulled herself from her chair and came to him, softly cupping his face.  “We’re friends, good friends.  A little wine and a drunken lap dance won’t come between us.”  Then she grinned and Varric let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.  “Besides, smart mouthed dwarves aren’t my type.”_

And then she hadn’t taken Varric up on his offer in the Deep Roads either, sick with guilt and not wanting to burden him past taking his hand in hers and holding it to her heart.  She hadn’t been selfish then, keeping the worst of it buried down so far she hoped it would never rise.

Tonight, the sight of her mother on the floor of their home, beyond broken at the loss of another child, brought it all to the surface.  The ferocity of her mother’s grief, and her own, stole Hawke’s breath and make her weak.  She was going to be selfish, she thought as she pushed in the heavy oak door to the pub.  Even if just for a few moments, she was going to be selfish.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric finds Hawke at his door, lonely and exhausted, and forces her to stay with him. Neither of them is ready to discuss the fact that offer he'd made to her in the Deep Roads is still standing, not when Hawke is still fighting with her grief and Varric is trying to help her through it.

A knock on his door had Varric looking up from the mass of papers and the people crowded around him.  He blew out an agitated breath.  What he really wanted was curl up in his bed for a week and not see the light of day, let alone another damn piece of paper, merchant, or courier, he thought as he motioned to the Merchant’s Guild representative closest to the door.  When the man just stared at him, Varric called out, “The door, my good man, won’t open itself.  If you would be so kind.”

Nodding, the older man grasped the handle and pulled the door open.  Varric turned his attention to the stack of contracts that had piled up in his long absence.  He would have loved to been given ample time to review them but the way they were being waved around underneath his nose by a handful of the pushiest merchants Kirkwall had ever birthed was eroding his already too-thin patience.

Another merchant started talking in his ear and after a few moments, Varric sighed loudly.  He just didn’t care about any of this right now.  “Fine, fine,” he said gruffly, waving them away.  “Tell that bastard Geralt he owes me a cask of his finest wine for having me push this through quicker than normal.”

The noise level in the room had been rising and falling at a fairly even pace all evening. Merchants, couriers, and the occasional shady dealer were constantly bustling in and out, trying to get a few minutes of time with Varric now that he was back from the Deep Roads. It seemed like he’d been back for two minutes, with barely enough time to bathe and change, before all the right (or maybe wrong) people in Kirkwall knew Hawke and friends had drug back a huge haul from the Deep Roads, and that Varric Tethras had been right in the thick of the whole thing.

Varric had started a conversation with another merchant when the room fell completely silent.  Brow creased and hand instantly reaching for Bianca, who was right at the side of his chair, Varric looked up to see Hawke standing just inside his door.  Her Mabari bounded into the room after her. That dog loved Varric's room, especially the rug in front of the fireplace, and Varric almost chuckled when the beast harrumphed at the merchant who was standing on it. The man squealed at the sight of an ill tempered war dog eyeing him like a leg of mutton and quickly fled to the other side of the room. Hero turned once on the rug, flopped down, and promptly fell asleep.

Varric turned his attention back to Hawke.  One look at her grime-encrusted face told him what he needed to know, at least for now.  If she had come to him, hadn’t even taken the time to clean up….  “Looks like we’re done for tonight, everyone,” he called out.  A groan came from those around the outskirts of the room who had yet to speak with him and he shot them reproving, if not slightly threatening, glares.  “I’ll send word around tomorrow with couriers.  I have other matters to attend to right now.”

When the pack was slow in getting a move on out of the room, he grabbed Bianca and jumped down from the chair.  Hawke was looking around the room nervously, like she could bolt at any minute and he wasn’t about to let her slip away.  He had a sneaking suspicion that if she got away now, he might have a hard time digging her out of whatever hole she chose to fall into.  Grief did funny things to people and he worried that a confident, forthright person like Hawke could fall victim to one of many (or several) vices in the wake of her sadness and guilt over Bethany’s death.

 _Oh, Sunshine, you didn’t deserve that,_ he thought, his heart constricting painfully.   _Focus, Varric, clear the room._  He pulled a bolt back, the distinctive sound turning every head toward him.

“I’m going to say this once, and anyone but Hawke and her giant war dog still in this room ten seconds after I finish gets to say hello to Bianca.”  He swung the crossbow around, lowered his voice, and growled, “Get the hell out.  Now.”

A giant shoving match broke out and Hawke jumped out of the way to avoid the rush toward the door.  Not quite ten seconds later, the last merchant scurried out, the door slammed shut, and the room was blissfully quiet.

“Varric,” Hawke said quietly, “I don’t mean to impose-”

Varric slashed a hand through the air.  “Never, Hawke.”  He moved across the room toward and stopped just a few feet from her.  They stared at one another for a few moments and Varric saw it in her eyes - all that pain and grief had settled there like an anvil.

“Are you sure?” she asked tentatively, reaching out to touch the collar of his coat.

He couldn’t help it. He sucked in a breath at her unexpected touch and her eyes shot like darts to his, pinning him with her gaze.  “Did something happen?” he managed to ask,  trying to breathe normally.  He’d given Hawke an open-ended offer after Bethany’s death, one he’d been shocked he'd made, but hadn't regretted and had no interest in taking back.  He found himself hoping Hawke was here now to take him up on it.  She’d needed the touch of his hand at that time, but his offer had been for a lot more.  His pride could deal with the fact that she hadn’t exactly been in the mood for some quick fumblings and shallow thrusts in the dark of the Deep Roads; honestly, he hadn’t wanted that either, but he would have given it to her if she’d asked.  All she had to do was ask.  He’d been thinking about her since their drunken debacle a few months back, the image of her above him permanently seared into his mind.

The sight of her at his door moments ago had rocked him.  She wasn’t getting away this time.

Hawke closed her eyes briefly and turned her face away.  “Mother didn’t take the news about Bethany very well.  I don’t think I’m welcome at home right now.”

“My home is yours,” he said in a low voice, not trying to keep the exhaustion at bay any more.  “I sent out for food, it should be here shortly.”  He nodded at her armor.  “You should get out of that, get cleaned up.  And I’m making an executive decision on what happens after that - food, drink, sleep, then repeat.  Hopefully for a few days, at least.”

Hawke smiled weakly as she dropped her pack and her sword. “I’d like that.”  Her uneasy gaze settled on his bed.  “And the sleeping arrangements?”

He followed her gaze and nodded.  “Ah, that.  Well, Hawke, as you know, I’m a perfect gentlemen.  So I’m going to ask your forgiveness if what I’m about to propose is too forward.”  He started to shrug out of his jacket, the movement so casual and oddly sensual that Hawke just stared.  When it was off, he let it dangle from his fingertips for a moment before draping it carefully over a chair.  “It’s a big bed, Hawke.  I don’t know about you, but I could use some company right now.  So if you won’t say no to us sharing the bed, I promise you some of my best stories and to keep my hands mostly to myself."

Her heart caught in her throat at the thought of them together in his bed.  She didn’t exactly have a plan past _Find Varric, don’t be alone tonight,_ but it sounded like a divine idea, the two of them asleep, tangled together.  It didn’t have to be sexual, but the possibility of sharing space and sheets and each other’s warmth was sending shivers down her spine.  “I won’t say no to that,” she said slowly, unbuckling her armored hand guards and dropping them on a side table.  “Maker knows it’s one hundred times better than the blighted Deep Roads.”

“And you get to say you slept with a dwarf,” Varric joked, laughing when Hawke choked a little.  “I love it when I make you blush, Hawke.”

Hawke wasn’t blushing from surprise - quite the opposite.  "You’re quite good at it," she grumbled good naturedly.  

When Varric turned to let in the delivery boy laden with his ordered food, Hawke couldn’t stop herself from staring at the way his tunic, which she rarely saw the full length of, hugged the strong lines of muscle in his back.  Unconsciously, she licked her lips as her gaze traveled lower to his backside.  Firm, rounded muscle led into powerful legs….

“Give me a hand,  Hawke?”

Hawke’s head snapped up. Varric was holding several sacks, some of them with steam rising from the top. She went to him taking the heaviest of the sacks from his right hand, and together they put the food on the table.  "This isn't from the pub."

Varric grinned as she opened one bag and a leg of mutton fell out, still smoking.  "Ancestors, no, Hawke. I know a lady in Lowtown who, if you pay her enough, will make you a home-cooked meal on order. I've had this planned for months, ever since you started really bringing in the gold for the expedition. I told her we'd probably be down there for a while and when we got back, I'd want some real food and I'd send word to her. Made it worth her while and look what she sent us."

Cheese, apples, tarts, stuffing, cooked vegetables, a whole pie, even a small tureen of gravy came out of those sacks. When the last bag was emptied, Hawke looked over at Varric and shook her head, smiling slightly. "This is quite impressive, Varric. I don't know that we can finish it all in one sitting."

"That's the point, beautiful, we aren't supposed to. A meal like this is designed to have leftovers.”  He gave her a disapproving look.  “I thought I told you to go get cleaned up.”

Hawke looked down and grimaced.  “Right.  I’ll go do that.”  She hesitated as she reached for the buckles at her shoulders.

 Varric tutted at her. "Don't think you'll be needing that armor here, Hawke. Anybody comes through that door looking for trouble, I'll just shoot them."

Hawke gave him a small smile. "My hero. Bianca won't mind?"

"You're one of the few people she doesn't mind defending," he said almost carelessly as he began loading a plate with food. "Now, get that armor off before all this gets cold. It'd be a pity to waste this feast, and the coin that paid for it."

Hawke muttered something about stingy dwarves that made him laugh as she went to the other side of the room to strip out of her armor. She cast one glance at him over her shoulder before undoing the various buckles and straps on her pauldrons, then her chest piece, but Varric was too interested in the meal in front of him to be paying attention to her. Hawke shook off the tiny bit of modesty that was making her feel jumpy.  She'd had to pull her armor off around him before, like when a stray fireball had caught her square in the gap between chest and shoulder guard and Anders needed to tend to the wound.

Or the one time they'd been trapped in a cave at high tide. Damn cave spiders had caught them off guard and she'd had Isabela flank them while Anders and Varric supported them from the back but they just kept coming....and then an unfamiliar sound broke through the cries and groan of battle and she turned and saw a wall of water rushing at them and then they were _running_. Her breath caught in her throat as she drug Varric along beside her, unworried about his pride and more concerned with the water barrelling at them.

Isabela and Anders had been just ahead and suddenly they were around a corner and gone, and panic had tightened her chest and made her shout for them. The water was around her waist and she felt like choking and then hands shot out and grabbed her and Varric. They were gasping and shaking, but safe, tucked into an alcove and protected by a barrier Anders had thrown up at the last minute. She was wet and cold and suddenly wanted every bit of metal off her body.

She tore at the buckles with numb hands and Isabela had silently helped until she was standing in front of them, shivering and Anders was right there, checking for wounds. She'd waved him off and had him go to Varric, who looked to be in far worse shape. Isabela had started a fire and after Anders had finished poking at him, Hawke went to Varric and wrapped her arms around him and apologized, feeling terrible that she'd let the heat of battle cloud her judgment and put their lives, his life, at risk. She'd pressed her cold, wet body against his and told him she was sorry and he'd said told her not to worry about it because dwarves were made of sterner stuff and a little water didn't scare him.

That particular memory made her pause, hands stilling on a set of buckles holding her lower armor set in place. She could almost feel the cold of that water on her body, the panic that had gripped her when she'd seen Varric's head disappear beneath the murky surface....

"Hawke?"  Hawke jolted, spinning to look at him with wide eyes and Varric's eyebrows drew down in concern. "Need some help over there?"

Her fingers slipped and she felt very clumsy as she replied, "Apparently, I can't get out of my own damn armor."

He chuckled softly and slid out of his chair to come to her side.  He gently pushed her hands away and kept pushing even when she protested, finally saying, "Hawke, dammit, let me help."  Hawke stilled and he huffed out a breath at her.  Quick fingers made light work of the buckles that had been plaguing her, and the armor dropped off, clanging as it hit the scarred wood floor. Hawke bent to retrieve it but Varric said, "Leave it," so she did, surprised at the edge in his voice.

Hawke felt his fingers skim the thin fabric over her knee as he set to work on the last of her armor, the heat of him seeping through to her bones. She shifted slightly, trying not to suck in a breath when she looked down and saw him kneeling at her feet, head bowed and lower lip pulled between his teeth in concentration. _Maker help me._

Varric felt her canting slightly forward as he was tending to her armor and it took an immense amount of willpower on his part to not tease her. It was even harder not to run his hand over her calf or caress her ankle as the last of her armor dropped away, but he tucked away his desire. There was time enough for that later, should the situation call for it, or better yet, should she ask for it.

So instead he pulled away, regretting the loss of her warmth and pulled her over to the adjoining room.  “It’s likely still warm,” he said, pointing to the bath tub.  “I thought I was going to need two baths to get rid of all the Deep Roads grime, but I was wrong.”

Hawke just gaped at him and he thought for a moment something was wrong, but a smile slowly spread over her dirt-streaked face.  “Varric, you have no idea what a welcome sight that is.”  She immediately grabbed the pack she’d discarded by his door and went to the tub, giving him a grateful smile over her shoulder.  He left her in peace to get cleaned up, daring only to look when the soft sound of hair against cloth made him pull his head up.  She’d unbound her hair from its high, topknotted braid.  His mouth went dry as her chestnut waves tumbled against her shoulders.   _Oh, Ancestors_ , he thought as he yanked his gaze away just as she picked up a cloth to wet it and run it over her face.    

Varric busied himself with Guild papers to keep from looking to his left.  The only time he said anything to her was to remind her that they had a full table of food waiting on them, to which she replied that he’d better not eat it all while she was bathing.  In truth, he did pick at it, but he refrained from doing more than grabbing a handful of this and that.

The food was a distraction from thinking about her naked in his tub.  The slight splashing sounds and little sighs from the other room had him completely on edge.  His skin felt too tight and he was half hard from imagining her dipping her head underneath the water only to rise up like a selkie, naked and dripping….. fuck.  

Checking over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t behind him, he pressed the heel of his hand against his erection in a futile attempt to relieve the building pressure.  It didn’t work.  He blew out a frustrated breath and thought about sneaking off quickly to take care of it when he heard Hawke moving around the adjoining room and realized he was out time.

When she emerged, clean and in worn but fresh clothes, her hair hanging down to her shoulders and still dripping, Varric motioned to the table laden with food ( while blatantly ignoring his stirring desire) and she collapsed gratefully in a chair. She fought him as he fussed over her but he won out in the end, filling her plate and her wine goblet until she was beyond full.  

They ate in not quite silence, an understanding between them filling the space.  Varric knew when to press and when to leave well enough alone.  If Hawke wanted to talk, she would.  So he ate and watched her, making sure she didn’t pretend to fill her stomach for his sake.

When they both pulled back from a table scattered with the remnants of their meal, Hawke looking more exhausted than he felt, Varric held out a hand to her in silent question and she took it, letting him lead her over to the bed.  His strong hand gripped hers tightly as he said, “She’ll come around, Hawke.  You grieved for Bethany for a week in the Deep Roads, you had the chance to deal with her death.  Your mother...she didn’t know if either of you were even coming back.  Give her some time.”

Hawke nodded, but she was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth like it had offended her.  “I know, Varric.  But you didn’t see her.  You didn’t see her face, you didn’t hear - “

Varric blew out a breath.  “How bad?”

Hawke looked down at their joined hands and tried to pull away but he held tight, using his grip to pull her close and wrap an arm around her shoulders.  “She blamed me for Bethany’s death.  She asked me -”  Hawke took a deep breath and said in a flat tone, “She asked me how I could kill my sister.”

Varric hissed out a breath between his teeth and pulled her even closer as he whispered, “I am so sorry, Hawke.  So sorry.”  Hawke took the comfort he was freely offering and scooted down a little so she could put her head on his shoulder.  “She’ll come around.  You’re all each other has left, Hawke.”

Hawke let his words go without comment, sadness tugging at her heart.  She refused to cry - she’d spent their last week in the Deep Roads silently weeping a few tears at a time whenever everyone else was asleep.  She never let anyone know that the death of her sister had broken some piece of her that she’d never be able to reclaim.  It wouldn’t get them out alive if she acted like a broken, grieving idiot.  And now her mother blamed her for Bethany’s demise, and the circle of grief became all-encompassing.

Eventually, a stiff neck forced her to look up at him and he saw the grief and exhaustion in her eyes - she saw the same things in his.  “Can we just sleep?” she asked as she pulled him down to the mattress.

Varric just nodded, stealing away from her only to pull the covers back and give her a chance to get into the bed.  She settled in then patted the bed in invitation.  Varric climbed in next to her, gathered her to him, and promptly fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things can look a little different when you wake up next to the person you care for more than anything in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my beta, SpectreAntiHero, for all her hard work!

Varric awoke in a haze of warm Hawke and tangled sheets. She had one arm flung over his side and one leg was slung over both of his. Her face was neatly tucked into his neck and he felt every breath she took.

He shifted his arm slightly to shake the tingles from it and found he could cup the back of her head easily. From there, it was so simple to weave his fingers into her hair, he didn’t even have to justify it to himself.

It was comforting, this thing, tangling his fingers in the waves that were normally piled high and out of reach. The feel of it as it passed over his hand, the smell of it as he moved the thick mass gently was almost too much. He felt the first spark of desire stir somewhere deep in his belly and he instantly clamped down on it, like stamping on a rogue ember that had popped away from a campfire. _None of that now, Varric. This was safety and warmth and two friends giving each other exactly what they needed._

She stirred in her sleep, moving even closer to him, pressing her body against his in a way that he found hard to ignore. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, their groins cupped against each other and then there was that beast again. _Lust_. Damn him to the Ancestors and back, this was wholly unfair. Hawke was sleep warmed and spooned against him, the only thing separating him from her skin a thin layer of worn cotton and his honor. He was a gentleman, would never take advantage of a woman, would never dream of doing anything against her will. But his mind was a traitorous little bastard and was dreaming up all kinds of scenarios that Varric found immensely, if not a little disturbingly, appealing.

He knew that guilt and grief had kept Hawke from taking his offer when they’d been in the Deep Roads. He’d been around long enough to see the pain of losing a loved one do odd things to people, so he’d kept his offer to her very open-ended, giving her the chance to accept or decline and, if she accepted, set the terms. Acceptance had come in the form of her taking his hand, the terms sealed by her stony gaze and silence.

It had been completely selfish of him to let that moment hurt. Hawke had just lost her sister, there was no excuse for the tiny prick he’d felt when she hadn’t taken anything more from him in that moment. So he’d let it go, sealing over his wounded pride by focusing all his attention on her. He desperately wanted to comfort her but she was taking what she needed from him at that moment. In truth, he’d needed some comfort too, Bartrand’s betrayal a wound that wasn’t about to scab over any time soon.

Varric carded his fingers through her hair, listening to her slow, even breaths and closed his eyes. When he thought about that night now, he realized that his problem had been, and still was, the fact that he wanted to give her comfort, wanted to help her so desperately that he had been thinking about what he would have needed had their roles been reversed. It had been stupid, selfish of him to even be hurt by what had happened, to feel like she had rejected him by not tackling him to the ground and pouring all that grief and pain into him. He had been willing to be used by her, to let her command his body and be told that she needed him, needed to be made to feel alive, even if just for a few moments.

That’s what Varric had wanted her to say as he sat there and held her hand, his mind racing and skin burning beneath his filthy clothes. He’d thought she would beg and keen for his touch just as much as he longed for hers. This burning desire for the woman sitting next to him, a woman whom he admired and adored, who had just lost her sister, was slowly driving him mad. But when he had looked over and saw the tear tracks carved on her dirt-streaked face, he instantly felt ashamed.

_He had gripped her hand harder and combed a few loose strands of hair away from her face and she’d turned to him then only to whisper, “Do you think she’ll forgive me, Varric? Do you think Bethany will forgive me?”_

_Varric had swallowed the lump in his throat and replied, “I don’t think there’s anything you need to ask forgiveness for, Hawke. She was your sister, she loved you.”_

Varric let out a stuttering breath at the memory, the thought of Bethany’s grey-pallored face and thin voice begging Hawke for a quick death doing wonders for cooling his desire.

“Varric?”

Varric opened his eyes and looked down to see Hawke blinking up at him. He smiled slightly and said, “Sleep well?”

Hawke nodded, her hand on his waist absently gripping tighter. “What time is it?”

Varric lifted his head to peer at the dark window and hazarded a guess. “I’m not completely sure, but from the lack of sound coming from downstairs and the fact that I can’t see the rest of Lowtown from the window, either very late or very early.”

That got him a confused look. “What’s the difference?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “The number of drunks passed out on the Hanged Man’s floor, and where Isabela is sleeping. If it’s very late, there will be bodies left and right all over that dirty floor down there and Isabela will likely still be drinking. If it’s very early, Corff will have driven everyone off and Isabela will have made her way back to her own bed, or into someone else’s.”

That earned him a dry chuckle. “It frightens me a little how you know all that.”

“I am what I am, Hawke.”

“And what’s that?”

Varric gently pulled away from her so he could sit up and stretch. He instantly regretted the loss of her heat and the feel of her skin against his, but the call of his bladder won out. He slid off the edge of the bed and made his way to the other room as he responded to her question. “A schemer, a liar, a thief, a rogue, and a damn good shot.”

Hawke slowly sat up, pulling her knees up to her chin so she could wrap her arms around her legs. She already missed his presence, even though she knew he’d be right back. It felt like they’d been sleeping for days but if it really was just before sunrise, they’d only gotten a little over ten hours of sleep. Hawke just wanted to pass out for days, wrapped in Varric’s arms, safe and warm and not having to worry about anything for once in her life.

When he returned and joined her on the bed, Hawke waited until he was settled beside her before saying, “I think you forgot a few of your more charming traits in that list of yours, Varric.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh? Well, by all means, enlighten me. I do love a good compliment or five.”

She nudged his shoulder with hers and he nudged back before she said, “Hm, well, how about charming, for starters. Or brave? Or how about dashing, I like that one.”

Varric laughed at that. “I’m okay with being called dashing, Hawke. What else have you got?”

Hawke pretended to think for a moment and then said, “Sarcastic. Devious. Observant. Intelligent. Witty.” Varric started to preen a little but stopped as she leaned closer to him and said quietly, “Kind, resourceful, thoughtful. The kind of man who would do anything for the people he cares for.” She reached up and pushed a strand of loose hair away from his face and whispered, “The best damn person I’m lucky enough to know and call my friend.”

A long, silent moment passed before Varric could say anything at all. “Damn, Hawke. That’s - that’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Hawke ducked her head and replied, “Well, it wasn’t very well put. I’ll work on something prettier later, that way you can get a proper big ego from it.”

She started to pull away but Varric stopped her with a hand on her knee. “Stay here, Hawke. Please." He slid his hand up her leg a little and Hawke froze. She heard nothing but the heavy beat of her heart in her ears, could feel its weight in her chest. The warmth of his hand on her leg stopped all thought. The tone of his voice, low and soft, slid through her, twisting her insides to jelly.

But, oh Maker, the look on his face.....that was her undoing. He was staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time, and like he was trying to memorize every detail of her face. Everything about him was darkly intense. It stole her breath to see all that focus narrowed on her, like his entire world consisted of one word.

_Hawke_.

Daring to take a breath, she felt it stutter on the exhale. Their eyes met and she felt everything stop. All she knew was warm skin and burning amber eyes and the glint of gold jewelry and the tight line of his body leaning so close to hers, too close and not enough at the same time. She felt like she was going mad and her skin might burst from the pressure of her need.

All because he touched her, lovingly and desperate at the same time.

"I know this might not be the best time," he finally said, his voice rough, hand gently squeezing her leg, "but I want you to know, need you to know this." And Varric leaned in, put his lips to her ear, and whispered, "My offer still stands, Hawke. Anything you need, any time. I'm yours."

Hawke couldn't think, couldn't speak. Every inch of her burned for him and she didn't want to hold back any more. She did the only thing she could at that moment - she reacted.

Varric watched, awestruck, when Hawke lifted her head and turned dark eyes on him mere seconds before taking the hand he had on her leg and placing it on the side of her face. She turned, oh so slowly, into that touch, her eyes fluttering shut. She didn't speak, didn't move toward him, barely seemed to breathe. Every fiber of her was focused on her face in his hand, that small touch drawing her to him like a beacon.

He was afraid to move, fearing he would break the moment and then she would realize what she was doing. But he felt her breath, slow and even, and his thumb was resting against her pulse and he felt so connected to her in that moment. Her hair brushed against his wrist and his free hand itched to touch it. He reached up and curled a tendril around his index finger, moving slowly so he didn't startle her.

Hawke felt the tiniest tug on her hair and smiled into his hand. She had felt him playing with her hair earlier and it had been a mix of comforting and arousing. It had taken quite a bit of willpower to keep her from begging him to _don't stop, I love it....Varric, please_ , that now, she didn't want to hold back.

Her eyes snapped open and she saw the startled, almost guilty look on his face morph into one of lust as she planted a kiss on his palm. The breath left his lungs in a rush, the quiet exhalation of air stirring her hair and making her shiver.

Hawke didn't have time to register the smile on his face for more than a second. Varric slid his fingers into her hair, moaned her name, and brought his mouth down to hers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Hawke find each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief, this is smutty, even for me. And I used to be called a porn queen in a fandom I wrote in years ago. Also, it gets super fluffy at the end. I will likely add one more chapter to this, maybe two if the story does what I'm afraid it might (i.e. grow into a fic toddler).

Hawke's startled eyes didn't stay open long. The need of Varric's kiss sent her reeling - insistent lips on hers, his hands in her hair, on her neck and face all demanded a response. She gave into him almost instantly, melting into his touch.

Her submission was sweet, her willingness to yield to his kiss and his need only adding to the low throb building in him. Their kiss grew, deepened. Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck and he shivered. He let a hand drop from her head to her shoulder, her arm, then her chest and she pushed into him, seeking his touch.

Hawke needed this, needed him. _Wanted him_.

What had started as desire, stoked in the fires of an easy friendship and a slow build into an inseparable bond, had now blindly tripped into something else. Something different, new. It pulled him to her like an invisible tether, beyond lust, beyond admiration or loyalty or anything he had words for at that moment.

Varric felt it in the look Hawke gave him after she slowly pulled a few scant inches away. Her chest heaved as she fought for air and sanity, eyes wide and dark. Her hands were on him, roaming, touching every part of him she could, caressing with light strokes that were just on the edge of teasing. They stared at each other for long moments, breathing hard, the tether between them pulled taut to the breaking point.

And after what seemed like ages, Varric couldn’t stand it any longer. He started to smile, a one-sided, rakish tip of his lips, knowing it would undo her, but she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his jaw and sighed his name and the tether snapped.

His hands on her became possessive and a part of her thrilled at how his touch turned from gentle to rough, yanking at her thin tunic to bare her shoulder to his mouth. She hissed when his teeth nipped at her, but he just laughed, the sound low and smooth and as heady as whiskey hitting her on an empty stomach. His other hand was insistent, pulling on her hair to tilt her head at just the right angle. Her neck was bared to his lips and teeth and he took his time licking and sucking his way down the column of her throat, soothing any stings he left behind with his tongue.

And while Hawke wanted this, to be looked after and cared for, to let him take the weight and the demands on her and change them, mold them, make her feel whole again, just for one night, make the world drop away….she wasn’t going to let Varric have all the control. Her body may have been under his command in that moment, his lips and hands warming her skin and coaxing soft sighs and moans from her, but she wasn’t just going to lay there.

The minute he pressed her into the bed and started working on the laces of her tunic, a wicked light in his eyes and her name on his lips, she slid her hands under his shirt and ran all ten of her clever fingers over his chest. Varric froze and he bit down on his lower lip to stop a groan from sliding out. Hawke smirked and squirmed underneath him, pressing her lower body up against his.

“You’re ruining a good thing here, Hawke,” he said slowly, sliding his hands up her arms to trap her hands on his chest. Her fingers were dangerously close to his nipples and he was so torn between letting her continue toward her goal or pushing her away so he could strip her bare.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Varric,” she replied, a teasing note in her voice. She knew exactly what she was doing. Hawke wasn’t stupid.

Neither was Varric. Decisions, decisions. “If I let you keep doing what you were a minute ago, I can’t promise that I’ll be able to continue with my plans for you,” he said warningly, raising an eyebrow when she tried to wiggle her hands from his grasp. “Now, Hawke, stop that.”

The only thing that kept Hawke from toying with him further was the promise in his eyes - the one that said he could make her forget everything as long as she let him. That he could love her in ways she could never imagine. That made her drop her hands away, a smile stealing over her face. “Do your worst, Tethras,” she said, a growl plummeting the tone of her voice so low he almost didn’t hear her.

Her challenge was like lightning up his spine. There was no way a woman like Hawke hadn’t been bedded before, but he was sure she’d never been loved by a lockpicking, smart-mouthed, merchant dwarf prince - hands like quicksilver, eyes that didn’t miss a single shiver, tongue and lips as clever and smooth as the tales he spun.

So he set to work. He wanted to be slow, to drag his fingers over the the scars on her ribs, to find the sensitive spots on the insides of her knees, to see her reaction when he grazed the soft skin inside her thighs with his stubble, but Ancestors, he wanted her. Wanted to taste her on his tongue, delve into her, and feel her shatter. Wanted to smell her skin and her hair and wrap himself in her and never let go.

Whatever this was, it went far beyond the boundaries he’d spent years crafting for himself. It went beyond the offer to a grieving friend in pain. Varric had no words for it, but it felt right. He was supposed to be here, with Hawke, right now.

Her tunic was ripped over her head with a ferocity she didn’t know he possessed. Her trousers were yanked from her with similar strength. Varric didn’t waste any time pulling his own shirt off and tossing it behind him before coming back to kneel between her thighs.

He watched the quick rise and fall of her chest, saw the goosebumps on her arms, the white skin around her knuckles where she was gripping the sheets so tightly - the very sight of her waiting for him to come to her, to claim her, made every part of him tighten with need. His cock ached, demanding his attention but he wanted to see her break first.

“Hawke,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her knee, “has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Only you,” she said after a moment, shifting closer to him and curling her other leg around his waist.

“No one else?” he asked as he continued to kiss his way up her leg. One hand smoothed a trail up the outside of her other leg, pressing it close. The other hand reached up and tugged at her breast band, but he didn’t have the leverage to undo the clasp. Hawke had just enough sense in her to help him. The cloth fell to the side and he badly wanted to reach up and feel her, to run his hands over her breasts and thumb her nipples, but he would have to abandon her legs and the evidence of her arousal at the apex of her thighs.

A small gasp made him look up briefly to see her biting her lower lip, pupils blown, head tossed back a little as she took matters into her own hands. Hawke had abandoned her death grip on the sheets to fondle her breasts, caressing and stroking her nipples, her ministrations drawing tiny gasps of pleasure from her reddened lips. A laugh rumbled out from the bottom of his lungs and slipped over her, making her shiver. “Really, Hawke? No one else has ever called you beautiful? No other lover?”

She shook her head slightly, biting down harder on that lip as his mouth grazed the top of her thigh. “No,” she breathed out. “No one.”

“Idiots,” he said softly. “They’re all idiots.” He took a moment to watch her touch herself, his hands slowly stroking her hipbones in a way that distracted her. Hawke slid a hand down her stomach to reach for him but he shook his head. “Not yet,” he said as he pulled on her smalls. “Let me see to you, Hawke. Let me do this.”

“Varric,” she said, a plea in her voice that almost broke him. He acquiesced only to lean forward and press a blazing kiss to her mouth as he stroked her with one finger. Her reaction was instantaneous - a low whine, the graceful arch of her back pressing her hips against his.

He had to pull back almost immediately. The pressure of her against him had been too much. If she did it again he wouldn’t be able to hold back, he would have to sink himself into her and he desperately wanted this first.

One hand on her abdomen pressing her down, eyes pinning her to the bed, he slid back so he could kiss his way across her hips. She bucked, the whine at the back of her throat winding into a moan. He shushed her, whispered her name, promised her that she’d forget it in a moment.

The sight of his head between her legs was enough to make her head spin. The sensation of his tongue on her, however, brought her crashing back down. His warm hands gripped her hips, steadying her, holding her still as that tongue did things she’d heard about from Isabela and the whores at the Blooming Rose but had never experienced herself. She knew she was wet, almost embarrassingly so, but the little humming sounds he was making didn’t sound like disgust.

It was almost too much, and not enough. He was gentle at first, as if he knew he was the first to please her this way. Little licks and kisses, the slightest pressure of his knuckle on her bud and she was moaning, the sound rising from the back of her throat.

_Ancestors, the sounds she made....._

Varric raised his head once to see Hawke, flushed and panting, eyes screwed shut. "Hawke," he said softly, "open your eyes." And she did. Her irises were all but gone, sunk into the black of her pupils that had expanded in her ever-blooming lust. His breath caught in his throat at the sight she made and he let out a strangled groan before saying, "I want you to watch, beautiful. Watch me do this." She nodded slowly and he gave her a satisfied grin before ducking back down.

Hawke fought the instinct to close her eyes as Varric settled back between her legs. So she watched him, her eye line focused on the narrow point between her breasts and down her stomach to where his copper hair fell against her skin, and where his mouth met her sex.

_Maker, she knew he had a wicked tongue but this....this was almost too much._

Varric's hands left her hips to slide down and push her thighs further apart. The sensations he was creating, low and deep in her belly, were exquisite, so intense she feared she might burst at any moment. She'd never felt anything so intense before, the combination of his lips and tongue stroking and sucking and licking at her making her thrash and plead.

But she never looked away, even when he raised his eyes to hers for one long moment before thrusting his tongue inside her and adding pressure to her clit. She screamed a little then, a tight, high sound that rose as her body did, back arching, hips raising, thighs tensing.

A hand lifted her ass slightly as he thrust his tongue into her, over and over again, until his jaw ached and she sobbed his name, her entire body shaking. He pulled back just enough to give her a moment but she didn't need it, the fire in her stoked so high she felt like she would burn up from the inside, white hot and blinding. She pulled on his hair and begged for him, for his mouth and his tongue, and said all kinds of terribly filthy things that shocked and pleased him.

He was surrounded by her, by her skin and the smell and taste of her, and when he pressed a finger inside her and licked her clit gently, she broke with a cry and he was pulled down with her as she shattered into a million pieces. He felt every pulse, every tremble of her muscles, swallowed her cries with fierce kisses so she could taste her own desire on his lips.

He started to pull away, to give her a few moments or to simply give himself some breathing room as the painful ache in his cock was relentless at this point, but her hand on his stopped him. "Varric, don't," Hawke said quietly, tugging him back to her. She was laying languidly on his bed, her flushed, dewy skin glistening in the candlelight, but her eyes were intense, much more focused than he expected them to be. _Not just Wardens who have stamina, then_ , he thought as she reached for his trousers _._

Slowly, she drew herself up on still slightly shaky knees, fumbling with the catch on his pants. Together, they got them undone and she slid the garment down, trailing her fingers over his legs.

Varric carded his fingers through her hair, drawing her face up to meet his. She pressed against him and kissed him fiercely, whispering little things between kisses as her hands moved over his body. She left no part of him untouched, chuckling as she found sensitive spots on his sides and just above his tailbone. A clever hand snaked down his smalls, tracing over his ass and making him buck against her. The scrape of her nails over the firm flesh had him growling against her lips.

She pushed his smalls down and he kicked them off. He meant to say something, anything, to break any last tension before they did this (when it was really to absolve him of the last threads of his own fears - what if this happened and he screwed it up and they could never go back?), but the light in her eyes and the smile on her face as she put a hand over his heart stopped him.

"Stop thinking," she chided softly. "We're doing this. I want this. You want this." Hawke reached up and tugged his hair free, watching delightedly as it fell around his face. She cupped his cheek and kissed him, softly at first, then with growing passion as her tongue chased his and she pressed against him and guided his hand to her core and he felt how wet she was.

Varric didn't bite back the groan that escaped him as she took his cock in her hand, stroking him firmly from root to tip and back. Her thumb slipped over the head, teasing, the pressure just enough to make him thrust into her hand.

"Hawke," he said warningly, his voice no more than a growl, "as much as I appreciate what I'm sure are your numerous talents-"

Hawke just chuckled, stroked him once more, then shoved him down on the bed. She moved fast, crawling up his body and planting hot kisses over his chest and hips before meeting his lips in a kiss that bruised.

"I'll find a way to pay you back for all that...attention you gave me," she said, her voice husky as she settled on top of him. Her wet center brushed his cock, making the length of him slide along her slit.

"Looking forward to it," he said as he steadied her hips. Their eyes met and he didn't dare to breathe as she twisted slightly and sank down on him, one hand on his chest, the other braced on the mattress.

The silence in the room as she took him to the hilt was crystalline, perfect for a single moment, until Hawke broke it by moaning, "Oh, Varric," and leaning forward to rest her forehead on his.

His hand tangled in her hair and they kissed once more, him whispering her name against her lips as she began to rock her hips.

Hawke reluctantly broke the kiss and pulled herself back up, both hands on Varric's chest now, giving her leverage. The motions started small, slow undulations of her hips that he could match with well-timed thrusts of his own. Little gasps tore from her throat as he slid deeper into her.

Varric watched Hawke throw her head back with careless abandon, lips parted as she breathed raggedly. Every thrust nearly made his eyes roll back in his head, the slick tightness of her gripping his cock and pulling moans from somewhere deep inside him. He reached up and cradled a breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger. She damn near shrieked, clenching on him so exquisitely that Varric lost the rhythm of their hips.

"If you don't mind me saying so, fuck it," he growled at her before tipping her back toward the foot of the bed. Hawke landed with a noise of surprise but he was on her faster than she could register, parting her legs with gentle hands and swallowing her laughter with a kiss.

Her hands on his ass encouraged him to come closer and it took him the work of a moment to slide over her sweat-slicked body and into her. This time, Hawke moaned out her appreciation at the feel of being controlled, being taken as Varric started a pace that left her clinging to him.

Varric kissed her forehead, her cheek, and finally her neck, settling his face there for a moment as he fought to catch his breath amidst the chaos. Hawke was tight and wet and making perfect little sounds of need, saying his name and asking for more and begging him to go on and everything was unravelling in the most beautiful way possible...

Her last cry of, "Varric, please," was his undoing. He pulled his face away from her neck and looked down to see her staring at him, looking every bit the warrior goddess he wrote tales about and the woman he'd loved for what seemed a lifetime.

Her hips rose to meet his and they fell together, clinging to each other, her muscles clenching as he spilled into her. Her sobs of pleasure met his own groans and the heat that had built in them for so long burned white hot, cresting in waves that left them utterly spent.

When Hawke could finally see again, she reached a shaky hand up to brush the hair from his face. With what little strength he had left, Varric laid a kiss to her palm, gently pulled from her, and fell beside her.

"I think you killed me," he joked, hand coming to rest on her stomach. "I'll be the first dwarf to die from orgasm."

Hawke laughed at that, a choked noise as she was still trying to catch her breath. "But what a way to go, right?"

"I'd be famous, at least."

"Mmm, infamous, maybe. You might inspire others to try it. It would be quite the legacy."

That made him choke a little. "Ancestors, Hawke, stop trying to make me laugh. You make me come harder than I ever have in my life and you expect me to have air left for a good chuckle?"

Hawke just grinned, a bright smile that left him a little dazed. "Harder than you ever have in your life?"

Varric pulled her closer, looping an arm around her waist. "No doubt about it. I thought I'd gone blind there for a minute."

"It's nice to know we can get naked and sweaty together and still talk like this, Varric." Despite the levity in her voice, Hawke's face grew serious after a moment. She took a deep breath and finally said, "I hope this wasn't a one time thing, Varric."

That made Varric sit up and give her a hard look. "What? Ancestors, no, Hawke." And he pulled her up and into his arms to brush her hair out of her face before kissing her. "I told you, I'm yours," he said against her lips, "and I meant it."

Her fingers slid into his hair and pulled him into a fierce kiss, leaving him no doubt. But she pulled back after a few moments and whispered, "Good." She slid one of his hands down her chest to rest over her heart. "I'm not going anywhere either."


	5. Chapter 5

**Epilogue**

 

_One week later_

Hawke shot Varric a panicked look.  “I can’t do this.”

The warm hand at her back gently pushed her to the door as he said, “Yes, Hawke, you can.”

She dug her heels in, skidding as he shoved and that made him stop.  She turned to look at him, fear making the whites of her eyes stand out.  It would have been a comical expression if Varric hadn’t known the genuine emotion attached to it.  “We talked about this,” he began, his voice soft, “and you know you need to see her.”

Hawke squeezed her eyes shut and sighed, tapping one fist against her thigh.  “I hate it when you’re right.”

He laughed.  “I’m always right, Hawke.”  She slid one eye open at that and he just grinned, but the smile fell off his face quickly as he said, “Now come on, quit stalling.  I’ll be right here, I promise.”

She grabbed his hand.  “I’m glad you’re with me, Varric.”

His thumb ran over the faint scar on her first knuckle as he replied, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Together, they opened the door to Gamlen’s house.

In any other situation, Varric might have grumbled about getting shoved aside, but since it was Hawke’s mother doing the shoving so she could hug her daughter, Varric simply slid out of the way.  

He could see tears glistening in Hawke’s eyes as her mother told her how worried she’d been and how sorry she was.  Hawke bore it all without dropping a single one of those silvery tears, but when her mother crushed her in another hug and Hawke looked over to him, he swore he saw one fall.  Varric tucked that detail away for later, but it wasn’t part of the story to tell the masses.  

Some of the best details he kept for when no one was around.  

_Tears falling from Hawke’s eyes as her mother hugged her._

_The way she smiled at him in the candlelight of his room._

_The sound of her voice calling him back to bed._

Those were the things he didn’t tell, the private stories he kept because he’d been trusted with them.  This moment, happening right in front of him, was one of those.

Not every story was worth telling.  The best storytellers never forgot that.

 

 


End file.
